Beneath the Greenwood Trees
by MLMartineau
Summary: While Elizabeth awaits the birth of her child, Darcy tells her of his own childhood. A short story which I was fortunate to have had published in an anthology called "The Road to Pemberley". Rights to republish (repost) retained by me, given by publisher.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The attics of Pemberley house were far larger than those of most great estates. The upper rooms had somewhat of a musty smell, although they looked clean enough. Cases and trunks from generations of Darcy families were placed about within; some concealing treasured possessions, long forgotten by the present owners of the place. Elizabeth Darcy had let herself through the door by using the keys she had been given upon taking up residence as the mistress of the manor. She had gone round to every room in the house, trying the locks, until she discovered that this particular key fit into the lock of an attic door.

A small stream of light shone through the undersize windows, yet there was enough light for Elizabeth to see her way through the trove of belongings. Given her curious nature, she was certain there would be no harm in opening a trunk or two and examining the contents. She was eager for a hint of her husband's family and of his childhood; she had always been curious to know what he had been like and how he had lived. He had admitted to being tall and gangly, or "all legs" as his mother had said of him, evident from the portrait of himself and his mother hanging in the library that had been painted during the early summer of his eleventh year.

Darcy had, at all times, been extraordinarily quiet on other aspects of his childhood and adolescence. Thus far, he had spoken mostly of Elizabeth, saying barely a word about himself, nary a story to satisfy Elizabeth's ardent interest. Elizabeth knew only that he had been left at the age of three and twenty with the duty of a great estate and the responsibility of a young sister to care for, as well as the loneliness of being a young man without the benefit or counsel of parents. She had never pressed him to tell her of his childhood, but now she was more curious than she had ever been before.

Elizabeth's fingers unfastened the latch on one of the trunks and she opened the lid. Within were stored three old morning gowns, which perhaps had once belonged to Darcy's mother. Elizabeth pulled one from its place and held it to her own frame. Even in its wrinkled state, it was three or four inches longer than would have fit her petite figure. She arched an eyebrow, understanding why Darcy was so tall. She closed the trunk and opened another, which had been placed far back in a corner beneath some old blankets.

Once opened, to Elizabeth's delight, she found it to contain a child's toys. There was an elaborately carved wooden horse and carriage, with working wheels and tiny leather harnesses, somewhat dried and stiff from the effects of time and use. She set the piece down and pushed it back and forth on the floorboards. Again, she peered into the trunk and found a small leather ball, a tin whistle, several small quills, and a leather bag. There were some folded clothes at the bottom, and she reached in and pulled out a pair of small shoes, a little blue waistcoat, and white breeches. She laughed at their small size and shook her head in disbelief that they would have ever fit her husband.

She happened to notice something beneath the clothing, and she reached in and pulled it from its resting place. It was a plainly carved piece of beech wood, resembling a sword. She was astonished to see such a thing made from such material, for certainly Darcy's father would have considered a beech tree a trespasser on his lands, worthy only of being chopped down. The initials FD were naively carved into the handle. Elizabeth held it in front of her, and then took a swipe through the air with it, pretending to wield it in battle. Elizabeth was sure Darcy would be able to tell her about its origin—whether he had made it or it had been the gift of a devoted servant to his master's child—and she hastily returned all the other items back to their hidden sanctuary and closed the lid to the trunk.

After dinner that evening, Elizabeth made haste to the library and eagerly sat in the chair beside the one Darcy always took up to read his newspaper from London. The publication came by post once weekly on Friday, and Darcy savored every word within, usually taking until Sunday to finish reading it. Elizabeth's eyes followed her husband as he went to the desk and picked up the newspaper, and then walked over to his chair, all the while skimming the articles on the front page. Methodically, he stood in front of his chair, turned about, and sat down, still occupied with his reading.

With a flurry of arms, legs, and newspaper, Darcy launched himself out of the chair. Something unfamiliar was beneath him. He quickly turned around to look at the seat, and Elizabeth tried her best not to laugh aloud at such a disorderly scene. Darcy's expression changed as he picked up the toy sword from his chair and held it before him.

"Say, there," he asked dubiously, "how is this come to be on the chair?"

Elizabeth laughed at the look of astonishment on his face. "I must admit that I went into an attic today and found that in an old trunk in a corner."

"What were you doing there, Elizabeth?" Darcy chided her.

"Searching for clues to your youth."

"For what purpose?" he asked disapprovingly. "You could have fallen."

Elizabeth sighed. "My dearest, I am with child, but I am not an invalid. Am I not to climb a few stairs? My dear husband refuses to allow me leave to do anything for myself, and I am oh so very bored."

Darcy sat back down in his chair and grinned in a boyish manner, "I thought this had been lost. Certainly cast out in the rubbish bin."

He looked at Elizabeth, the grin still on his face. "It disappeared the summer that my aunt and uncle came for holiday at Pemberley with my cousins. I laid the blame on my eldest cousin, Edward, for taking it and burying it, repayment for the mischief Richard and I played on him that summer." Darcy took a swipe through the air with the toy weapon, "Odd, how I remember it being much larger."

"Pray, Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth teased, "I want to hear of it."

"And so you shall," he replied, "If you promise you will not go into the attics again. If you want something, you have only to ask Mrs. Reynolds and it will be brought down."

"Until I have gone through every article within?"

"If that is what you wish," Darcy said and chuckled. "I do not believe that there is any cause for reproach. Or perhaps I should look for myself first."

Although she would not have admitted to it aloud, Elizabeth had encountered some difficulty managing the steps to the attics. Her own adventures would, for now, have to wait until her child was delivered. For the time being, she would be quite content to listen to Darcy's stories of his youth. She sat back in her chair and placed her feet up on the footstool, trying to find a comfortable position despite her awkward state of impending motherhood.

"Were you a knight—a defender of truth, justice, and distressed damsels?" Elizabeth eagerly looked to him for an answer.

"Hardly," he said and chortled. "I fancied myself as Robin of Loxley."

"Robin Hood!" she proclaimed with amusement. "You were a thief—you who are a man of means!"

"The Earl of Huntingdon—or Robin Hood, as he is commonly known—was a champion of what he believed was his right as a master of his property and as a free man" Darcy smiled at the thought of it. "There are some ruins not far to the east of the entrance to Pemberley Park. My cousins and I would run down to them and spend our days pretending to defend them from the Sheriff of Nottingham."

"I know them," Elizabeth declared. "I found them one day on an outing."

Darcy recited a child's ballad for her: "Now bold Robin Hood to the north would go, with valor and mickle might, with sword by his side, which oft had been try'd, to fight and recover his right."

* * *

"Who goes there?" a dark-haired boy called down from atop the rubble.

A fairer-haired boy replied, "Tis I, Will Scarlett! I have come to pursue Robin the Hood!"

The darker boy jumped down from his perch atop an old pile of masonry rock, wielding a carved toy sword, and said, "No one sees Robin the Hood!"

The other boy put his hands on his hips, and gave a look of defeat. "How are we to play if no one can see you?"

"Of course, you can see me, Cousin," the boy said and sighed.

"You are supposed to fight me for the right to join my band of men!"

Young Richard Fitzwilliam unsheathed his sword and pointed it at Master Fitzwilliam Darcy. "Very well, you—whoever you are. I shall not leave until I have bested all present and have earned the right to live among you!"

The two boys pushed and shoved, and clashed swords. The summer day was fine and the sun shone down on the battle scene, as the boys playfully fought each other until they could barely stand up because of exhaustion and laughter.

Yet another voice came from behind: "You there, you scurrilous pair. Prepare to meet your doom!"

The two younger boys stared, wide-eyed, at the intruder, and then looked at each other with broad grins. Yelling at the tops of their voices, they charged the taller boy, who held a toy sword in either hand and wore a wicked grin.

After battling for some time, young Richard charged the tall boy and stuck him in the ribs with the blunt point of his sword. "I have wounded you, you lecherous cur!"

"Nay, nay, you did not injure me at all."

"I say, Edward, he did so!" young Darcy complained.

"Oh, very well," Edward huffed, and he fell on the ground and rolled round, writhing in mock agony for some minutes.

"Edward!" Richard yelled. "How long does it take someone to perish, for heaven's sake?"

Edward stood up and looked down on his brother. "As long as I say it does!"

Richard stood his ground. "You never play fair—you fool!"

"Fool? Fool, you call me, and another thing—I am becoming bored with always having to play the evil character. Why do you not do it for a while, or are you afraid of being pummeled?"

"This is getting very tedious," young Darcy said and stomped over and stood between his two cousins. "Do you carry on like this all the time?"

Richard sheathed his sword and turned around to stomp back over the ruins and sit down. "Only when we are breathing," he muttered.

"Well, stop it, or I shall tell your father," Darcy threatened.

There was no worse crime that could be committed by young boys than fighting each other. In their father's eyes, it was a punishable offense and simply was not tolerated. The three cousins sat atop the pile of stone quietly for a while, contemplating how they would draw to see who would have to be the villain.

"Hallo there!"

The three boys turned their heads in unison in the direction of the uninvited voice. A tallish boy trudged up the path with a smaller boy, and the two came to a standstill, gawking up at the cousins.

"It is George Wickham," Darcy whispered to his cousins. "The steward's son."

"I do not give three figs who he is, as long as he is willing to be the villain." Edward jumped down from his perch atop the ruins and stood before young Wickham. "Do you want to join us?"

"Depends. What is it that you do?"

Young Darcy scrambled down from the rubble, followed closely by Richard. "We are in need of a Sheriff of Nottingham to battle our trio of men," Darcy replied.

Wickham smiled broadly. "Indeed. If you need a sheriff, I shall be your man."

"You there," Darcy said to the other boy. "You can be Sir Guy of Gisborne."

The other boy nodded enthusiastically. "What shall we do for weapons?" he asked.

"I shall be happy to lend you some of mine," Richard threw the boys a few pieces of his vast arsenal.

Darcy laid out the scene: "These ruins are your battlement, and you must come find us in the forest. Tis ordered by the king."

The cousins ran off into a stand of trees and waited for their adversaries to begin their search. Darcy and Richard climbed up into two of the trees and practiced their birdcalls, in case secret communications would be necessary.

"Quiet, you are going to give away our positions," Edward snarled in a whisper. "Besides, you sound like sickly pigeons!"

Edward ducked as a handful of the previous year's walnuts were hurled out of the tree and landed all about him. Darcy eagerly awaited the arrival of Wickham, or rather, the Sheriff of Nottingham. He had a score to settle with the boy, for it seemed that your Wickham was always getting Darcy into trouble with old Mr. Darcy.

Mr. Darcy had taken a liking to the son of his steward and young Wickham's easy manners and deportment. Mr. Darcy had also taken on the responsibilities of benefactor to young Wickham that spring, when Wickham's father had taken ill. Master Darcy, however, had learned to trust the steward's son only as far as he could toss him. There had been a few times during play that Wickham had led Darcy down a crooked path, only to deny it in the end, leaving young Darcy to take the blame and face his own father's disapprobation. As far as Master Darcy was concerned, it would be a pleasure to best the blackguard in battle.

While waiting, Darcy began to recite to himself one of the child ballads his father had taught him. The boy loved to sit in the library in the evenings, listening to his father tell him stories of long ago.

 _Here is one of us for Will Scarlett,_

 _And another for Little John,_

 _And I myself for Robin Hood,_

 _Because he is stout and strong."_

 _So they fell to it hard and sore;_

 _It was on a midsummer's day;_

 _From eight o clock till two and past,_

 _They all shewed gallant play._

Before long, the enemy was in sight and the boys sprang down from the trees to defend their territory. It was all-out war for upward of fifteen minutes. The odds were definitely in the merry men's favor; they outnumbered the villains, three to two. They were fortunate, in this instance, to have Edward on their side. He was a boy of fifteen, very tall and broad for his age. What he lacked in wit, he made up for in brawn, which he used to menace his younger brother and cousin.

He was no match for Richard and Darcy, however, when it came to imagination and slyness. He had learned to lament the time when they were all together, for he might find a live creature in his bed or wake up in the morning to discover that every pair of shoes he owned had been laced together and strung outside his window. All in all, he had a relatively good nature when it came to their teasing, and was even know to defend the younger boys against other boys.

When the battle had been waged and it was determined to be a victory on the side of truth and justice, the boys rested together beneath the trees.

Wickham grinned in the direction of young Darcy and said, "I heard your father say that you were to go to the assembly in Lambton tonight."

Darcy grimaced and said, "Good God, not an assembly!"

"What is wrong with an assembly, Wills?" Edward asked.

"You have to dance," Darcy rolled his eyes in disgust. "I have no stomach for it at all. I would rather drink a bottle of castor oil than dance."

"You would have to dance if you drank a bottle of castor oil!"

Richard laughed at his cousin, and the other boys laughed, too. Darcy frowned. He abhorred assemblies.

"Are there many pretty girls in town?" Edward inquired of Wickham; unaware of what a reliable source young Wickham truly was on that subject.

"Indeed, quite a few, an all are eager to dance. Occasionally, they will bestow on their partners an obliging kiss," Wickham ventured.

The rest of the boys looked like a bevy of owls as their eyes widened at Wickham's comments. Edward and Richard grinned, as Darcy simply groaned at the thought of having to tolerate being slobbered upon by some nonsensical female, no doubt adorned in some shade of pink.

"I suppose it is our duty to dance with them, then," Edward replied. "I would not wish to disappoint them." He got up from his place beneath the tree and proceeded to walk back to the house.

Wickham and his friend left as well, leaving Darcy and Richard under the trees.

"What do they see in them?" Darcy asked and sighed.

"In who? Girls?" Richard asked. "I suppose they are wanting to marry one day."

Darcy could only snarl, "I shall not marry a girl, unless I am sure she can arm wrestle."

"What has that got to do with it?" Richard asked and guffawed.

Darcy stood up and looked toward Pemberley house, "What else would a fellow do for amusement?"

* * *

Elizabeth laughed, shifting positions in the chair. "Well, my dear, you have not yet asked me to arm wrestle."

Darcy cleared his throat. "No, indeed." He noticed his wife's discomfort, and, making an attempt to avoid telling Elizabeth any more of his tale, said, "If you are ailing, Elizabeth, we can take this up at another time."

"Not likely, Mr. Darcy." Elizabeth's eyes squinted to show her displeasure, realizing her husband's ploy. "You shall not get out of this so easily." The housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, entered the library with a tray of tea and cake, and she set it down beside Elizabeth.

"Thank you," Elizabeth said and smiled warmly at the servant. "Oh, husband," she said and sighed. "This child of yours likes to kick his heels at this very time each evening. Perhaps with such eager feet, he will find assemblies more agreeable than his father does, but for now he seems satisfied after having a little something sweet."

Elizabeth took a sip of tea prepared for her by Mrs. Reynolds, and a small bite of the cake. Then she lifted her chin resolutely.

"Pray, continue."

Darcy smiled. "Where was I?"

"You were to attend an assembly in Lambton," she reminded him.

"Indeed, that regrettable event," he muttered.

* * *

Young Fitzwilliam Darcy stepped into his father's study and waited near the door. "Come in, Son," Mr. Darcy said to his eldest child. "And how go your adventures today?"

"Quite well," the boy replied quickly. "Papa, are we to go to an assembly tonight?"

A smile came to Mr. Darcy's face. "Indeed, Son, so it would seem. Your mother and your aunt have expressed a desire to attend such an event."

"Might I remain home?" the boy asked, slumping into a chair in front of the large study desk.

"No, you may not," Mr. Darcy said without hesitating. He knew his son disliked such social engagements, even at his tender age. Mr. Darcy and his wife had tried to do what they could to discourage the boy's taciturn bent, and they offered guidance when necessary.

"But Papa…" the boy began to protest.

"Fitzwilliam," Mr. Darcy said firmly, "summer is a time for families to participate in local society. It is a time for young men to put down their books and learn the refinements that will one day be required of them. You do not have to like it, my boy, but you do have to participate."

Mr. Darcy was a kind, patient father, but he was not always indulgent, and he expected his children to know their places within his household. A disappointed scowl began to emerge on young Darcy's face, until he thought better of any such display in the presence of his father.

"How will you know how to behave in society if you do not learn now?" Mr. Darcy inquired with a wink. "Besides, it is good to go while your cousins are present. They are very amiable young men, and you would do well to follow their examples."

"Truly?" the boy wondered at the statement. "But if I am already betrothed, why must I need to know these things at all?"

"Fitzwilliam," Mr. Darcy said as his eyes widened. "You must know it because I say you must; and as to the matter of a betrothal—I think it rubbish, my boy. You will choose your own wife." Mr. Darcy added beneath his breath, "And, I hope, one with a little life in her."

Young Darcy sighed, realizing he was losing a battle of wills with his father. It was a hopeless business, and he was fated to spend an evening bowing and affecting some sign of pleasure for the sake of young maids whose mothers pushed them toward the boys' general vicinity. He would loathe every excruciating moment of the whole affair.

Mr. Darcy stood up from his desk and put his hand upon his son's shoulder. "A country assembly provides good practice for the balls you shall attend in your future. You never know whom you will meet, Fitzwilliam. One day, you may meet the love of your life at just such an assembly."

The boy's shoulders slumped forward in subjugation. "I imagine not, Papa."

 _Twas neither Rosamond nor Jane Shore,_

 _Whose beauty was clear and bright,_

 _That could surpass this country lass,_

 _Beloved of lord and knight._

 _The Earl of Huntingdon, nobly born,_

 _That came of noble blood,_

 _To Marian went, with a good intent,_

 _By the name of Robin Hood._

 _With kisses sweet their red lips meet,_

 _For she and the earl did agree;_

 _In every place, they kindly embrace,_

 _With love and sweet unity_.

The Darcys and the Fitzwilliams entered the assembly room at Lambton to the great amazement of the other prestigious town folk. They were not often seen at assemblies, so this was indeed a distinguished occasion. Young Darcy moved off to the courtyard with the other boys, as their parents engaged in polite conversation before the dance. The children present held their own dance of sorts out on the courtyard, in the shadows of their parents. It was how one practiced proper etiquette at such functions and prepared to be ladies and gentlemen.

Darcy and Richard stood in a corner and looked on as Edward boldly approached one young lady to ask for the favor of a dance.

The young girl blushed and gladly accepted, knowing, even at her tender age, what an honor it was to be noticed by the eldest son of an earl.

The whole business made Darcy's stomach churn. His shyness and reserve did nothing to recommend him to others, and some of the children thought him conceited.

"Wills, do you see a girl who strikes your fancy?" Richard inquired with a grin.

Darcy glanced around the courtyard, shyly eyeing the young girls as they all giggled and blushed.

"They are laughing at us, Richard," Darcy whispered.

Richard smiled at his cousin, "They are not laughing, they are flirting."

Darcy furrowed his brow as he attempted to digest his cousin's counsel. Richard put his hand on Darcy's shoulder. "Thick of this as a game. Surely, if it is a game, you can overcome a little fright."

"Fright!" Darcy exclaimed. "You are wrong, Richard. Girls do not scare me!"

"Have it your way, Cousin. Look, there are two girls about our ages. I shall ask the one to dance and you shall ask the other."

"Which one, the right or the left?" Darcy inquired, as the butterflies in his stomach threatened to bring him to his knees.

"It does not matter—come on." Richard tugged on Darcy's coat sleeve.

"I beg your pardon," Richard said and bowed gallantly to the young ladies. "My name is Richard Fitzwilliam and this is my cousin, Fitzwilliam Darcy." Richard looked over at his cousin, who was standing and staring at the girls with a slight frown. He reached over and poked Darcy on the shoulder and Darcy bowed, as rehearsed. The girls curtsied and batted their eyelashes in a way that would have made their mothers proud.

"My name is Mary Chaney, and this is my friend, Annabelle Martin."

Sweet Mary smiled at Richard, and Darcy let out a meager groan as Richard was overtaken by a rather comical grin.

"Will you do me the honor of dancing with me, Miss Mary?" Richard inquired.

Miss Chaney lowered her eyes and nodded her consent, much as a young lady ought. The young pair moved off in another direction, in polite conversation until the dance began. Darcy stood in front of Miss Annabelle Martin, alternating glances between her face and his own feet. Miss Martin was fair enough and not at all displeasing, but Darcy stammered and stuttered and his knees threatened to knock, nonetheless.

"Uh, if you are n-not otherwise engaged, will you do me the honor of a dance, Miss, Miss…"

"Martin," she coached him.

"Miss Martin. Yes, of course." Darcy wiped his sweaty palms on his coat.

"Yes, I thank you," she spoke politely and took Master Darcy's damp hand. Darcy was instantly grateful for the delicate gloves she wore.

The music began to play in the assembly hall, and the adults took their places along the line. The children formed two lines of their own, in imitation of their parents, and the dance began. Darcy moved as he had been taught by his mother and father; all the while praying to the Almighty that he would not miss a step or accidentally tread upon Miss Martin's delicate foot.

To his own satisfaction, Darcy made it through the set with hardly a misfortune, and he was quite pleased with the performance. When he escorted Miss Martin away from the dance floor, he noticed his cousins and friends were still engaged with their young ladies. Darcy looked at Miss Martin, wondering how a boy began a conversation with a girl.

"Do you attend Eton, Master Darcy?" Miss Martin asked.

"Yes, my cousins and I are all home on holiday for the summer."

Miss Martin nodded politely and awaited further conversation from young Master Darcy. The wheels turned in Darcy's mind as he strained to think of things to say. At length, he simply asked Miss Martin if she cared to take a turn with him and she accepted. They walked along the back veranda and down the stone steps into a small park. Darcy mustered his courage and took a good look at Miss Annabelle Martin as she strolled a pace or two in front of him. She was not disagreeable to him, and she possessed fair skin and pretty dark curls that bounced when she walked. He supposed those to be the qualities of a young lady that should attract a young man, and he was quite impressed with himself that he had actually taken notice.

"What do you do for amusement during the summer, Master Darcy?" she said as she stopped under an oak tree and turned to face him.

Darcy was caught off guard as his gaze met with Miss Martin's large brown eyes. His eyes wandered down the bridge of her small nose, which was lightly freckled in a rather fine way. Her teeth were tolerable, he supposed, and she had a comforting smile.

"Um, well…I…I read, and we have gone riding. We have been lately at the old ruins near Bristol Cross. Sometimes we run into Lambton from Pemberley to play cricket on the green."

"I live near the green. Perhaps I shall see you there soon?"

"Per-Perhaps," Darcy stammered and blushed. Then the two stood for some time, with a rather lengthy pause between them.

Finally, Darcy managed to say, "I suppose we should be getting back to the assembly."

Miss Martin nodded and then turned when she heard her mother calling her name from the veranda. She quickly looked back at the handsome young man in front of her and before Darcy knew it, Miss Martin had placed a tender kiss on his unsuspecting lips, and then run back to the assembly room.

Young Darcy could barely move a muscle as he contemplated what had just happened to him. It seemed as if his heart had stopped beating. Practically every ounce of color had drained from his face, and his mouth had gone dry.

"Fitzwilliam!" Richard called out from the veranda. "Wills, where are you?"

Darcy turned around at the sound of his name, and on seeing that it was his cousin, called out, "Here! Down here!"

Richard came bounding down to the park, wondering what his cousin was doing out alone in the moonlight. "Richard!" Darcy exclaimed as he began to panic. "That girl, she…"

* * *

"Hold a moment, sir!"

"What, my dear?"

Elizabeth was perturbed, "You mean to tell me that this girl was so forward as to kiss you?"

"Yes, quite."

"The little tart!" Elizabeth exclaimed under her breath. "Pray, who is she, Fitzwilliam? Does she still live in Lambton?"

Darcy chuckled as he realized Elizabeth's discomfort at the disclosure of his first kiss. She was not one to exhibit jealousy as a general rule; however, her emotions seemed to be more acute these days.

"Elizabeth, I was a man of eight and twenty when we married," Darcy playfully scolded her. "Did you expect me not to have been in the company of other women before we met?"

Elizabeth tried her best not to pout. "No, I cannot say that I did."

"Besides, Miss Annabelle Martin has long since taken the name of Mrs. Taylor. She married a man from Devonshire, and I have not seen her for many years." Darcy took Elizabeth's hand and placed a loving kiss on it. "Rumor has it that she has had at least six children in as much as ten years."

"I should not doubt it!" Elizabeth huffed and stiffly shifted her position in the chair.

Darcy glanced at Elizabeth, a sly grin on his face. "Perhaps you would wish me to stop for the evening, my dear?"

"Not at all!" she exclaimed. "That is, unless you are to inform me of any other young wenches who happened to make such advances to you?"

"No, dear. I shall not tell you about any of the others," Darcy pretended to study the toy sword, awaiting his wife's reaction. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her pick up her embroidery and begin to busy her hands and her mind with something constructive.

"Pray, continue," she said and sighed.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 _There were outlaws, as 'tis well known,_

 _And men of a noble blood;_

 _And a many a time was their valour shown_

 _In the forest of merry Sherwood._

 _Upon a time it chanced so,_

 _As Robin Hood would have it be,_

 _They all three would a walking go,_

 _Some pastimes for to see._

As Richard and Darcy walked along the path toward the lake, they could hear Edward singing at the top of his voice. The boys stopped and hid behind a tree as they watched Edward cooling himself in Pemberley's lake, quite by himself, happily raising his voice in song.

They looked at one another and grinned, for Edward was indeed a sorry singer. Richard spied Edward's clothes atop a boulder beside another tree.

"Wills," Richard said in a low voice and then snickered. "He is naked! Look, there are his clothes."

Darcy giggled, but bit his lip for fear of Edward hearing them. "Do you think he will notice if his clothes turn up missing?"

"Not at all," Richard said and stifled a laugh. "Why would he need clothes on such a warm day?"

The boys crawled over to the rock, pulled off Edward's togs, and tucked them under their arms. As they hastily retreated to the house, they could hear Edward's merry melodies wafting on the breeze.

* * *

At dinner Edward pushed the food around on his plate. Darcy and Richard sat quietly, attempting to keep their faces from showing their guilt, though Edward's red cheeks made it very difficult.

"Well, Edward, I believe you have been taken in by one of the oldest tricks in the book." The earl looked at his son with a grin upon his face. "It must have been one of the tenant children who took your clothes, for no son of _mine_ would ever do anything so low." He eyed his younger son and pursed his lips.

Glancing at his own father, young Darcy met a look of disapproval. He lowered his eyes to his plate to hide his mirth and quietly ate the meal before him. Darcy nearly choked on his food as the earl recounted how Edward had been forced to make his way to the stables, quite in the buff, where he bribed a stable hand for a horse blanket to wrap himself in so he would be able to make his way into the house.

Young Richard let out a snicker at the story. "You find it amusing, Richard?" his father barked.

Richard gathered his wits and snapped to attention. "No, sir, not at all."

"And you, Fitzwilliam?" Mr. Darcy inquired sternly of his own son. "You appear to be quite diverted by your cousin's misfortune."

"No, sir, excepting that it does lend itself to a rather ridiculous picture," Young Darcy's grin turned into open laughter as Richard let out a guffaw.

"Mind your impertinence, young man," Mr. Darcy reprimanded his son. "The table is no place for foolishness. Perhaps a night spent in your room would be appropriate. Take yourself there now, straightaway."

"Yes, Father." Darcy got up from the table with his head bowed and quickly slipped from the room.

"You too, Richard, and do not let me catch you laughing at your brother's expense again," the earl snapped.

"Yes, sir." Richard followed his cousin's example and obediently left the room.

The earl turned to his brother-in-law with a purposeful look, which was returned by a meaningful twitch of Mr. Darcy's eyebrows before Edward could catch either gesture.

Side by side, Darcy and Richard headed for their rooms, grinning as they went. They both knew it would go better on them to take the easier punishment than be made to confess and suffer a worse one. Confinement to their rooms was not such a bad thing, as it also saved them from the wrath of Edward and any retaliation. They both had stowed a few good books in their rooms, for just such occasions.

It was Sunday and the morning was spent in church. This was agony for most boys, as it was expected that they would sit quietly and reflect for longer than they deemed tolerable. They were made to listen to tedious sermons, droned on by vicars. The subject that week concerned the propriety of virtue.

Young Darcy sat next to his father in the family pew. He glanced around the church and happened to see Miss Annabelle Martin sitting across the aisle with her parents. She gave him a shy smile as he caught her eye, and he looked back and smiled, too. Then he tried his best to pay attention to the sermon.

He thought perhaps he should feel some guilt at having compromised the girl, though as he contemplated it a while longer, Darcy decided that the experience had not been wholly bad. In fact, he had rather enjoyed his first experience with the opposite sex, and besides, it had been she who had kissed him, after all. He let his mind drift back to his present situation. He fidgeted in his seat as he thought of the battles to be waged and victories to be claimed down by the ruins.

Mr. Darcy looked down at his son and noticed his restlessness. Though not unsympathetic to the discomfort of a hot, stuffy room, there was etiquette to be maintained. He reached down and put his hand on his son's knee, implying to the boy to remain on his best behavior.

Young Darcy knew the meaning of the press of his father's hand. His father was kind and loving, and not given to an ill temper, as were some he had seen. However, young Darcy had learned that it was not wise to test his father's patience too severely. From as much of a desire to please his father as to avoid any further gesture of correction, Fitzwilliam shifted once more and thereafter tried to emulate his father's still and composed posture.

 _Robin was a gentle boy,_

 _And therewithal as bold;_

 _To say he was his mother's joy,_

 _It were a phrase too cold._

 _His hair upon his thoughtful brow_

 _Came smoothly clipped, and sleek,_

 _But ran into a curl somehow_

 _Beside his merrier cheek_.

When the family arrived home, Darcy went upstairs and knocked on his mother's bedchamber door.

"Mama, may I come in?"

"Yes, Fitzwilliam. I would very much like to see you," Lady Anne's voice consoled him. His mother had taken to bed, for she had recently discovered she was with child, and she had begun to feel ill. The much-awaited news that a child was on the way had been a long time in coming for the Darcys, being as Fitzwilliam was past eleven. He really had no idea of the impact a baby would make on his life. He did not understand any of it, nor did he particularly care to.

"How do you feel, Mama?" he inquired.

"Well enough, under the circumstances. Are you and your cousins behaving yourselves? I do not wish to know that you are giving your father grief."

Fitzwilliam smiled mischievously and said, "Fairly well, Mama."

"You are not climbing trees and bashing one another with those sticks, are you?" his mother asked and raised her eyebrows questioningly.

"Mama, it is what boys do! If I am not allowed, there will be nothing left to do and the summer will be for naught!" Darcy protested.

"Fitzwilliam, I should not want any harm to come to you. You will surely hurt yourselves wielding those sticks and hanging like monkeys from the trees."

Young Darcy watched his mother shift position in bed and close her eyes as a wave of illness overtook her. "Are you certain you are well, Mama?"

"Yes, dear, it is only a little discomfort. It is endurable, as it is a sign that the baby is well enough."

* * *

"Your poor mother, Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth said and sighed. "I do know how she felt." Elizabeth lowered her feet from the stool and sat forward to stretch as much as she was able.

"Shall we walk for a bit, my love?" Darcy stood up and gave her his hand.

"Around the room will be sufficient, for I would not wish you to forget to continue your story," she said and smiled up at her husband.

"Somehow I think you will not let that happen."

Elizabeth stood up. "Ooh…there," she said. Grabbing Darcy's hand, she placed it on her belly. "There, do you feel the baby?" she said and giggled.

Darcy did feel the baby, poking and jabbing at him. "Does that hurt?" he asked, looking a little squeamish but smiling nonetheless.

Elizabeth shook her head, "It mostly tickles, although sometimes the tyke gets in a good shot. It is, however, a very reassuring feeling."

Darcy's smile faded. He leaned over and kissed Elizabeth tenderly, as he whispered, "My dearest."

"What is the matter?" she inquired.

Darcy shook his head. "Had I only known back then the things I know now, I would not have given my father grief. He must have been terribly concerned about my mother, and about the baby. Instead of being allowed to attend to his obligations and worries, he had to contend with the antics of a spoiled boy."

Darcy heaved a sigh as he thought of his father, but his smile reappeared as he felt his own child move once more against his hand, reassuring him that everything was well.

* * *

Despite the looming threat of parental chastisement, Darcy and Richard continued their pranks on Edward. His irritation on discovering their chicanery was too amusing to resist. For Richard, it was a matter of payback for Edward being the older brother. For Darcy, it was merely good sport.

Edward fancied himself a fearless hunter, for he had been on a hunt with his father and Mr. Darcy earlier that year. He delighted in tormenting the younger boys with the fact that he was of an age to be taken on such prestigious outings, while they were still infants, as he liked to call them. This caused great vexation for the younger boys.

During the summer months, bats had been known to hide in the attics of Pemberley house. That summer had been no different, and Mr. Darcy warned the children that if they saw them, they must tell him immediately, and never touch the creatures, for fear they would be bitten and get something called hydrophobia.

The younger boys delighted as Mr. Darcy told them this, especially when they saw Edward shiver in disgust at the thought of encountering such vermin. Later that night, when everyone was in bed, there was a knock on young Darcy's bedchamber door. He scurried from his bed and opened the door, and Richard slipped into the room.

"Wills, did you see? Edward is afraid of the bats!"

"I do not blame him, Richard. I have seen one and the very notion of them makes your skin crawl." Darcy shook off the shiver that invaded his body.

Richard made a determined face. "Edward does not know that we fear them! I have an idea, but I need your help."

"Oh no!" Darcy resolutely shook his head. "I am not catching any bats!"

Richard folded his arms across his chest. "I did not know you were such a coward!"

"A coward, me?" Darcy was incredulous. "Surely you are making a joke."

"Then you will help me?" Richard asked with glee.

Darcy nodded his head and then decided he would visit the library in the morning and restock his room with a few more books, feeling another banishment coming down in the near future. He had a feeling that when his father found out what they were up to, he would be spending more time in solitary confinement.

The next morning, the boys were up early and stole out of the house before being missed. They ran down the lawn and stopped under a large pine tree, looking underneath for a pine cone that would be precisely the right size. Darcy picked up a perfect specimen and shoved it in the pocket of his coat.

After breakfast, the boys went to their rooms to gather their arsenal for play. Edward entered his bedchamber, followed by Darcy.

" _What_?" Edward said as he scowled at the younger boy.

Darcy shrugged. "Nothing. I thought today you could be Robin of Loxley."

"Truly?" Edward said and grinned. He no sooner began to rejoice at his good fortune than Richard came running into his bedchamber, looking ghastly pale.

"Edward! There in my room!" Richard pointed hysterically.

Edward gasped. "What? _What_ is it?"

"Something on the floor of my bedchamber!" Richard yelled. "You must go and fetch it!"

"I am not going to fetch it!" Edward screamed back. "It is probably a bat!"

Darcy stood behind Edward and nearly laughed at his older cousin's distress. "You are the oldest, and besides you are a fine hunter, or so you say," Darcy taunted him. "Richard and I are merely infants!"

"That is right! You are infants!" Edward said, sneering.

"Well, I am not afraid of a flying rodent." Darcy went to Edward's bureau and found a small box on top of it. He emptied it of its contents and he opened the secretary drawer and took out a few sheets of paper.

"What are you doing?" Edward yelped as he shadowed his young cousin.

"I am going to catch it in this box. I shall put the box over it, slide the paper underneath, and turn the whole thing over. Then I will take the poor creature outside and let it go!"

Edward stopped and stood with his mouth open as Darcy left the room. Richard began to follow his younger cousin.

"Just where are you going?"

"I am going to help Wills catch the beasty," Richard said matter-of-factly.

"You are out of your minds, the both of you!" Edward screeched.

"And you are fainthearted!" Richard lambasted his brother.

Edward was appalled. He had boasted of his courage and daring to his younger sibling and cousin. Now here he was, standing idly by as the younger boy's risked life and limb to rid the household of a scourge that carried _hydrophobia_ , of all things.

Darcy returned to Edward's room within a few minutes, with the box in his hand and the paper over it. "I got it!" he exclaimed with a grin.

"Nay, you are pulling my leg, you are!" Edward shook his head. "There is nothing in that box."

"There is so!" Darcy protested. "Here, take a look."

Darcy moved forward and slid the paper off the box a bit. Edward backed up and nearly fell on his backside in his haste to get away.

"You are bluffing! There is nothing in that box!"

Darcy took the box and tilted it to the side. Edward heard something in the box scratching, and then bump on the other side of the box. Edward's eyes opened wide and he started backing up farther and faster.

"Do you not want to see it, Edward?" Richard asked with a grin.

"I saw it in my room. It is black and ugly, with big wings and fangs!"

Richard imitated the creature the best he could.

"Uh…n-no…no…" Edward stammered, as the panic in him grew worse. "Get it out of here!"

Darcy moved the paper away from the box a little more and looked inside. "It looks harmless enough."

Edward became desperate. "Wills, take it away! It will surely bite you, and then you will be frothing at the mouth!"

"Not from such a little thing!" Darcy grinned and looked inside once again; and then with a jump, heaved the box up, letting its contents fly out in Edward's direction.

Edward shrieked and fell to the floor, and then quickly crawled out of the room on all fours, screaming at the tops of his lungs. The younger boys were overcome with glee as they fell onto Edward's bed in fits of laughter.

Richard ran over and picked up the pinecone from the floor and held it in the air. "Some great hunter he turned out to be! Afraid of a big, ugly pinecone!"

 _In summer time when leaves grow green_

 _'_ _Twas a seemly sight to see_

 _How Robin Hood himselfe had drest_

 _And all his yeomandrie._

 _He clad himselfe in scarlett red_

 _His men in Lincoln green_

 _And so prepares for London towne,_

 _To shoot before the lovely queen._

The boys had planned to run into Lambton that day to play cricket on the green. Young Wickham had told them a few of the boys from the village were organizing a game and all those willing and able were to be invited.

When the boys arrived at the green that morning, the scene looked like a knightly tournament, with young men waiting to show their expertise at sport, and young ladies lined up along the sides of the field to cheer on their favorites. Miss Mary Chaney was there, eager to see Richard Fitzwilliam. Richard obliged the young lady, walking over to where she stood with her friends and taking a moment to play the flirting game, which he had tried to explain to his cousin Darcy after the assembly, but to no avail.

Darcy stood some ways back and watched his cousin's amiable nature with those of the opposite sex. It was no matter whether young Darcy wished to participate in this particular game; in his opinion, he would never have a talent for it. He spied Miss Annabelle Martin amongst the girls, and for some reason he felt obliged to make sure she noticed his presence. Edward threw Darcy a ball, and Darcy began to make several practice bowls, while Edward took a few swings.

Darcy was convinced that there was no better way for a chap to be noticed by a girl, than while engaged in a little sport. Each time he bowled, he would steal a glance over in Miss Martin's direction, to make sure she was thoroughly impressed with the figure he cut on the playing field. Miss Martin watched and smiled as Master Darcy did his best to look impressive for her benefit. Darcy was annoyed, however, when young Wickham made his way over to the group of girls and began to monopolize their attentions.

Darcy bowled the ball again, and then looked over in Miss Martin's direction, only to see her laughing and her eyes sparkling at the amiable conversation of George Wickham. Edward hit the ball and it went flying in Darcy's direction.

"Look out!" Edward yelled, and Darcy fell to the ground just in time to avoid having his bell rung, much to his embarrassment. When Darcy scrambled to his feet, he stormed over to where Wickham and Richard were entertaining the girls.

"Are we going to play this game?" he huffed. "Or are you going to lollygag all day?"

Darcy was selected the captain of one team and Robert Leyton the captain of the other. Young Leyton was a year older than Darcy, and the two boys were neighbors, although they did not play together. Leyton's father and Mr. Darcy were not the best of friends, even though their estates bordered each other's. The Darcys and the Leytons had been involved in many land disputes throughout the years, going back as far as the boys' great-grandfathers. It seemed, in the opinion of the Darcys that the Leytons were always making claim to Pemberley lands. The feud had been perpetuated throughout the years, but both boys knew little of the particulars, only that their families were not on good terms.

Wickham was chosen as umpire, much to the chagrin of both captains, for Wickham was known to make questionable calls. The teams were nominated, and play commenced near noon.

The constable was taking his midday turn about Lambton when he stopped to watch the friendly play on the green. Seeing no problems, he decided to continue on, although he thought it best to come back by the green after some time.

Unbeknownst to Darcy and his cousins, there had been a match a fortnight earlier, which had turned into an all-out brawl. The constable was in no humor to see the same thing happen on this day, and he swore to himself that if there was any mischief, someone would face the consequences.

The midday sun beat down on the green, and after about an hour, most of the boys began to feel hot and testy. There were a few occasions when Darcy and Leyton argued over a call of Wickham's.

However, Edward, Richard, and a few friends of Leyton's did their best to keep the peace. A new boy walked onto the field for Leyton's side, and upon seeing this, Darcy ran over to Wickham.

"Who is he?" Darcy questioned in annoyance.

Leyton came out onto the field and with hands on his hips said, "I am making a change in players."

"You cannot do that!" Darcy looked at Wickham, "I say, he cannot do that! It is against the rules!"

"Tis not!" exclaimed Leyton.

By now, the rest of the boys had gathered around as Leyton and Darcy argued the rules of the game.

"You nominated your players, and the rules state that you cannot make a change in the middle of the match without my consent!" Darcy huffed, quite put out by Leyton's audacity.

"Darcy," Wickham said as he smiled nervously, "give him your consent, so we can get back to play."

Darcy soon wavered in his determination to stick with the rules, especially since he was hot and tired. He made a move to give his consent when Leyton interrupted him.

"He will never consent! Like father, like son!" Leyton quipped.

Darcy frowned resentfully. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Richard held onto Darcy's right arm and Edward held onto his left as the irritated boy tried to charge at his accuser.

"It means you are as unbending as a fence post," Leyton said and smirked.

Darcy screwed his face up in revulsion, but Richard and Edward kept their hold on him. Wickham quietly moved around the outer edge of the circle, careful to stay on the side of his benefactor's son, yet also near an escape route.

"At least I can win and play by the rules, instead of cheating by moving the fence posts!"

Leyton's face was red with anger as he came within inches of Darcy, shoving the boy's shoulders with the tips of his fingers, "You are stubborn and absurd."

"Here now, Leyton, there is no need—" But Edward was not allowed to finish, as he let go Darcy's arm to move Leyton's hand away. Darcy had heard enough.

With a quick jab to the gut, Darcy knocked the wind out of Leyton. A boy came flying across the line, intent on defending his captain from young Darcy's attack, but knocked into Richard instead, sending them both to the ground.

Within a few seconds, there were boys flying everywhere, knocking each other down and tumbling about in the grass. Girls were screaming at the horrifying scene, although in truth they thought it fairly good sport to watch the boys fussing and fighting.

There was a market at one corner of the green where the local farmers sold their fruits and vegetables during the summer months. Wickham ran by one farmer's cart, trying to flee one of Leyton's supporters, but the other boy was too quick, as he reached out and caught Wickham by the coat, flinging him around.

Wickham reached behind into the farmer's cart and grasped a melon in his hands. He raised it above him and let it down hard upon the boy's head. Thankfully, the melon was extremely ripe and only succeeded in making the lad look like a salad. When he had cleared away the juice that was dripping down into his eyes, Wickham was gone. That did not much matter, though, as he grabbed two more melons and ran back to the fray. Soon boys were pulling out melons left and right, pelting one another in frenzied assault. The poor farmer tried his best to protect his crop, but every time he went to interfere, he was splattered with another of his own melons.

Darcy and Leyton were rolling around on the ground, punching and kicking each other, when Richard came up behind them with a melon.

"I say, break it up!" Richard yelled, but the boys kept punching and rolling. Richard waited until Leyton was on top of Darcy, and then let the melon crack onto Leyton's head. Darcy scrambled to his feet as Leyton rolled off, confused by the surprise attack.

"Thank you, Richard!" Darcy said and grinned.

"Do not mention it!" Richard returned, laughing.

No sooner had they turned around to join the rest of the brawl than someone caught them by the scruffs of their collars.

"I never thought I would see it come to this!" bellowed the constable. He and some of his men gathered the boys that had not run off and took them back to the constable's office. They placed all the boys into a small cell, including Darcy, his cousins, and Leyton.

"Now, there will be no trouble out of you boys! Your parents will be notified of your whereabouts, and you shall remain here until they can fetch you!"

Darcy looked about the cell. There were battered and bruised boys everywhere, and each and every one of them was covered with melon pulp and seeds. Darcy made his way to one of the wooden benches and sat down with his head in his hands. He thought he might cry as he imagined the ire of his father and the grief of his mother upon hearing the news that their only son was incarcerated.

He glanced through his fingers to see Edward and Richard looking much the same way. "Father will have our heads, or worse," Edward moaned.

"Edward, do not speak of it." Richard's heart pounded at the thought of their father's likely reproof.

There was a commotion at the door of the office, and every boy in the cell stood at attention, believing that _his_ father was about to enter the room to claim his son. You could hear a pin drop as a figure entered the room and came around the corner to peer into the dusky cell.

The constable's keys jangled as he opened the lock and called out, "Robert Leyton, you are to go."

Robert left the cell and stood next to the constable. Darcy saw Mr. Leyton come around the corner with a mortified look on his face. The father grabbed the back of his son's collar and pulled him out of the room. Every boy in the cell startled as they heard the front door slam and the driver of the carriage call out huskily to his team as the horses sped away.

It was not long before Mr. Darcy and the earl got word of their sons' whereabouts and drove to Lambton to fetch them. The earl came around the corner of the room and stood before the cell. His face was stone cold as he glared at his sons. Darcy had never seen Edward and Richard look so fearful, or his uncle so furious.

The constable opened the cell door, and the earl growled, "Get into the carriage, both of you!"

Both boys did as they were told, leaving Darcy still within the cell. The earl looked at his nephew, frowned, and then left the room. Darcy wiped the sweat from his palms onto his coat, wondering where his father was as he turned around to survey the remaining boys.

"Darcy!" the constable's voice boomed through the silence, causing the boy to jump and his heart to pound. Darcy turned to take leave, but froze where he stood, upon finding his father waiting for him, ominously silent.

"Come out, boy, your father is waiting," the constable chastised. The boy could not look up as he came to stand before his father and the constable.

"Mr. Darcy, sir," the constable spoke apologetically, "your son has never before been in trouble here. If it were not for…well, sir…if it were not for his part in this mess, I'd gladly have let him go without another word on the subject."

Darcy glanced up to find his father glaring at him, "You are responsible for this, this mess boy?"

Darcy searched his father's eyes, desperate to find any hint of leniency as he justified his involvement. "Papa, I had no choice! Leyton insulted me…our family…" The smoldering anger in his father's eyes told him his defense was useless. Hanging his head in dismay, Darcy admitted quietly, "So I hit him."

The constable cleared his throat before venturing tentatively, "Aye, sir, and there's more to the story, if you please."

Mr. Darcy frowned as he pointed his son to a bench along the wall, "Sit yourself down. I will hear out the constable."

While trying to appear disinterested, Darcy strained to hear the conversation taking place across the room, but all he could manage to hear were snippets of information.

"…came running for me…reluctant to say…said he'd be getting someone in trouble whom he'd rather not…"

"Where is he?"

"Sent him home, like a good lad…what else am I to think? Master Darcy standing in the middle of it all…"

"…lost the entire cartful?"

"That he did, sir. I cannot let your son…"

Unfortunately, as his father turned toward him, the last was pronounced with great clarity: "You have my assurance that he will be thoroughly punished. Please see that the farmer Mr. Landers receives this."

Mr. Darcy took out his money clip and handed a five-pound note to the constable. "And please accept my apologies for the trouble you have endured."

Darcy stepped into the Fitzwilliam carriage and slipped quietly into the space next to his cousins as his father took up a place beside the earl.

"Brother, Fitzwilliam has admitted to starting the fight," Mr. Darcy informed the earl sadly. "And according to young Wickham, my son was also the first to raid the farmer's cart."

Young Darcy exchanged wide-eyed looks of disbelief with Edward and Richard before sputtering an objection: "But I did not—I never—"

Edward, feeling the responsibility fell to him as the eldest among the boys, interrupted his cousin: "Father, it is not right—what Wickham told the constable."

"You are in no position to judge Wickham's actions," the earl growled, believing his son to be condemning the boy for telling on the others. "I want to hear nothing more from you, Edward—from either of you," the earl said, eyeing his sons sharply.

Mr. Darcy rapped the ceiling of the carriage with his walking stick, and the carriage jolted forward on its journey to Pemberley.

Darcy and his father walked in the front doors of Pemberley house. Lady Anne was waiting for them in the hallway, and young Darcy stood before her, trembling as he saw the anguish on her face.

"Oh! My boy, are you injured?" Lady Anne cried as she knelt down to her son, immediately using her handkerchief to wipe away the grime left by the dirt and pulp. The gentle strokes of her cloth revealed a small cut on his lip and a tenderness on his cheek. "My dearest boy, you are injured," his mother pronounced with alarm as she scanned his person for other signs of injury.

Suddenly, Lady Anne turned ashen and teetered dangerously and she grasped for her husband's aid. Relying on the support of her husband's arms, Lady Anne fanned herself with her handkerchief until realizing it to also be a source of her distress. Casting it away from her, she fanned herself with her hand to rid her senses of the smell causing a consuming wave of nausea.

"Mr. Darcy, that odor…I am unwell."

As he gently led his wife to a place to lie down, Mr. Darcy shot his son a stern glance. "Get to your room, Fitzwilliam, and clean yourself up. I shall be up in a moment, and we shall have a talk."

Darcy let go the crumpled cloth of his shirt he had been worrying with his hands as he looked up at his father. "Talk" was most likely not the proper phrasing for what his father had in mind. With one last look of concern for his mother, the boy did as he was told.

That night, young Darcy lay on his bed, smarting from the punishment his father had administered. What also stung was the lesson in human nature that the boy had learned that day.

He was angry with Robert Leyton for provoking his wrath and speaking ill of his father. He was incredulous that George Wickham should implicate him when he had never been anything but forthright with the fellow. Darcy was upset that his father had taken the word of the constable and assumed his son's guilt without giving him a chance to explain. But mostly, young Darcy was disappointed in himself, for being the cause of such misery to his parents.

* * *

Elizabeth looked over at Darcy. "Melons?" she asked and laughed.

Darcy smiled slightly and nodded his head, "Indeed, it was an abysmal scene."

"How so like Wickham to behave in such a way, Fitzwilliam. It is a wonder you have tolerated him all these years. How did you know it was really he who owned the guilt?"

"Richard told me later, after the length of his punishment was fulfilled."

"Was your uncle severe?" Elizabeth asked.

"My uncle would not tolerate having felons for sons." He added, "Mention the Lambton honeydew affair if you want to see the colonel blanch."

"And you? Was your father terribly angry?"

Darcy shifted unconsciously in his chair, remembering his father's words and the licks of the birch branch that had followed; _you are a Darcy, not some hooligan who goes brawling about. There will always be some windbag challenging you._

The now-grown Darcy chuckled momentarily at his father's inadvertent admission of his opinion of the Leyton men _._

 _Use your head, Fitzwilliam. Choose your battles carefully or you may wind up at the end of some fool's pistol._

Darcy sighed as he admitted, "I was banned from the green for the remainder of the holiday."

Elizabeth pondered her husband's demeanor. For a moment, she thought that he looked just like that eleven year-old boy he once was. The blunt end of the sword he held had fallen to the floor as he contemplated some thought with a broodish push of his lower lip.

"And?" she pressed, with unspoken mirth, wondering that there was not something more.

Darcy glanced at her uncomfortably before mumbling toward the floor what had been the worst of the punishment; "And I had to apologize to Robert Leyton the very next day."

Darcy's pout soon morphed to a wicked grin as he felt the satisfaction he had known then upon seeing the dark blue–and–green bruise consuming Master Leyton's right eye. Darcy lifted the sword's point to an angle of inspection as he murmured, "I swore then I would never allow myself to be humiliated by that fellow."

Elizabeth flushed and looked down at her needlework, realizing all the more acutely what her husband had forgiven about the circumstances of her first meeting with Robert Leyton. After her marriage to Darcy and her arrival at Pemberley, Elizabeth had been headstrong and taken a curricle out alone one day to visit a neighbor. The horse had been stubborn and the curricle stuck fast in the mud. It was Robert Leyton who had found her and returned her home to her husband, but not without expressing to his rival a sarcastic comment as to Darcy's aptitude as his wife's guardian.

"And you never told your father?" Elizabeth asked curiously, also turning the discussion from their querulous neighbor. "You never told him of Wickham's involvement?"

Darcy appeared sad as he slumped back into his chair, reflecting, "Father was a fair man, Elizabeth. He would have wounded him to know he had believed less of his own son than the son of his steward—and that he had made me suffer for it. Sometimes the truth is not worth the hurt."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Once their fathers deemed them sufficiently punished for the incident on the green, the boys were allowed to continue their pursuits at the ruins. After breakfast one morning, young Darcy ran to his room, grabbed the wooden sword, and scurried down the stairs to catch up with Edward and Richard. In his haste, he nearly ran into his mother in the gallery.

"Fitzwilliam!" she exclaimed. "Dearest, do be careful with that stick. You are surely going to hurt someone with it."

"Yes, Mama. I shall be back later, Mama!" Darcy assured her confidently as he continued on his way.

His mother watched him, the sword flailing through the air as he went, and she hastily called after him, "And do not climb the trees!"

When the boys reached the ruins, they drew willow twigs, for whoever got the shortest twig would have to be the villain that day. Darcy, unfortunately, lost the draw and resigned himself to the odious task of portraying the Sheriff of Nottingham. He decided to fight fire with fire this time, so he ran into the wood and climbed a tree, lying in wait for the merry men.

When he saw Edward come bounding out from behind some brush, Darcy slipped his leg over the branch he was sitting on and jumped down to scare his cousin. The ploy worked and he did frighten his cousin, however, he landed hard and fell backward as his feet hit the ground. The boy reached back and his arm became pinned between a rock and his body. He yelled out as he felt a sudden pain from the twisting of his arm.

Richard and Edward ran over to him, "Wills, are you hurt?"

Edward reached for Darcy's shoulder to help the boy up, but when he touched it, young Darcy screamed out in pain, "No, no. Do not touch it!"

As swiftly as he was able Edward ran back to Pemberley house for help, and Richard stayed with his cousin until the earl, Mr. Darcy, and a few household attendants came running. They carried Master Darcy back to the house, where Lady Anne was waiting.

"Mr. Darcy, Mr. Darcy!" she exclaimed in a panic. "What has happened? Will he survive?"

"Yes, dear, he will be fine," her husband said in an attempt to console his anxious wife.

The boy looked at his mother as the attendants carried him up the stairs. She was worried beyond consolation, her face ghostly white; and he saw her grab his father's arm as she held Darcy's toy sword in her other hand.

* * *

"You know, that was the last time I remember seeing this," Darcy said as he looked at the toy sword.

Elizabeth smiled in a motherly manner. "She must have hidden it in the trunk in an attic, so that there would be no danger of you injuring yourself again."

"I suppose so." Darcy sighed and then chuckled. "All these years I thought Edward took it. I owe him an apology, I think." Darcy looked over at his wife, and saw her fatigue. It was getting late and he had kept her from their bed and much-needed rest for too long with his stories of that summer long ago.

"Elizabeth, you must go to bed now. I will take you upstairs, directly."

"Fitzwilliam, I am fine—truly," she protested halfheartedly for she was indeed quite tired. "But I must know what happened the rest of that summer."

"There was not much more to it, really," he smiled. "I spent the rest of my holiday nursing my wrenched shoulder and arm. My uncle, aunt, and cousins left a few weeks later to return to London, and my father sent me with them to go back to school. He had always taken me to London himself, though I suppose his worry for my mother was too great to leave her alone."

Darcy's happy countenance faded as he recalled that time. Was he melancholy? Elizabeth wondered. But then, she saw his features harden into the taciturn man she knew him to be when he was resolved not to let the world know of his troubles.

Darcy helped his wife up from the chair, and they slowly walked out of the library and above stairs to their chambers. Darcy left Elizabeth in the capable hands of her maid.

"I will just take a turn about the house," he said, and kissed her and she smiled wearily, putting a hand to her back and one to her side as she thought of laying her growing body down in the comfortable bed.

Darcy walked out into the hallway with a candle to commence his nightly inspection of the house. When he entered the library, he strode over and picked up the toy sword from the chair. He gave one last swipe through the air with it, and held up the candle to look at a large portrait of himself and his mother. He moved the candle to his right and illuminated a likeness of his father, painted around the same time, during young Darcy's eleventh year.

"Father," Darcy sighed loud, "why could you not have let me be a boy for just a little longer? Where is it written that a man must be so serious, when there is so much more to life?"

Darcy leaned against the desk for a time in quiet contemplation. He remembered how he had been unsure of his life after that summer, for things at Pemberley were to change. From that time on, Darcy's father had encouraged his son to be a little more serious in his studies, and when the boy was home on holiday, his father insisted that he learn how to manage the estate and affairs of business.

A baby girl had been born to the Darcy's while Fitzwilliam was at school, and Georgiana had taken the place as the child in the family. Not long after her birth, Lady Anne had become seriously ill with the fever and soon left Mr. Darcy alone with a precocious son and an infant daughter. Fitzwilliam Darcy had felt the weight of the responsibilities pressing on his father—and he had been keenly aware of his father's loneliness.

"I wish you were here now, Father," Darcy whispered as he looked back up at the likeness. "I have questions, and I could do with some advice."

Tears welled up in Darcy's eyes; tears that had not been shed when his father had died. "I fear I know nothing of how to be a father," he continued. "That was always your part. I should have paid more heed, but I was contented to simply be your boy."

Darcy breathed in deeply and collected his wits. He took one last look at the sword which had brought back so many memories, happy and sad; and he placed the sword in the top drawer of the library desk to be forgotten once again.

* * *

Elizabeth and her young daughter walked along the path to the north of the house, until they came to a clearing where the old ruins stood. They hid themselves behind a large tree and peered around the knotted trunk, quite unnoticed.

"Who goes there?" a tall, dark-haired man called down from atop the rubble.

"Tis I, Will Scarlett! I have come to pursue Robin the Hood!" a gangly boy of about seven yelled up, making his voice sound as big as he could.

The man jumped down from his perch atop an old pile of masonry rock, wielding a carved toy sword, and in pointing it at the boy, said, "No one sees Robin the Hood!"

"How are we to play, Papa, if no one can see you?" the boy threw up his hands in defeat.

"Of course you can see me, Andrew," Darcy said, "You are supposed to fight me for the right to join the merry men."

"Oh," the boy shrugged and replied matter-of-factly; a countenance to match that of his father; and then turned around and called out to his brother, "Christian! Make haste! Papa is going to challenge us to a battle!"

A very small boy, with a shock of disheveled hair and pink cheeks, came charging out on sturdy legs from behind a thicket with a wooden sword in each of his hands and a wicked grin upon his face.

"Come down and battle me, Papa!" he demanded in a high-pitched wail. "Come down now!"

With a flourish, Mr. Darcy brandished his wooden sword, pretending to fight off the advance of his each of his sons, one and then the other. He was laughing so hard he could barely catch his breath, and in leaving himself open to attack, Andrew gingerly stuck his father in the ribs with the blunt point of his sword. Mr. Darcy writhed in mock agony, hands pressed to the wound, and he fell to the ground, much to the delight of the giggling boys.

"Get up, Papa! Let's do it again!" Christian tugged on Darcy's shirt, which was a little damp and dirty with dust and sweat, and the little boy jumped up and down. "I want to do it again!"

"I am not the boy I used to be, Christian; shall we not rest here a moment?" Darcy smiled and Andrew hurried over to where his father sat on the ground, and both boys took up their places, one boy under each outstretched arm.

"Shall I tell you more of Robin Hood?" the father asked, leaning back again a smooth boulder to catch his breath in the stillness of the air of a summer afternoon; and the boys heartily agreed.

Elizabeth and her daughter laughed; "Not so loudly, Hannah; they will hear us," the mother cautioned with a kiss on the cheek of the little girl who giggled excitedly at the sport of her father and brothers.

The two were content to remain hidden behind the tree, listening to Mr. Darcy as he did recite a child's ballad:

 _They are all gone to London court,_

 _Robin Hood, with all his train;_

 _He once was there a noble peer,_

 _And now he's there again._

 _Many such pranks brave Robin played_

 _While he lived in the green wood:_

 _Now, my friends, attend, and hear an end_

 _Of honest Robin Hood._


End file.
